Time
by Quick-Fix MeeM
Summary: Transferred from my deviantART account, kat1004, this is a crossover between Doctor Who and Sherlock. AKA Wholock. What happens when the world's only living Time-Lord and the world's only Consulting Detective meet at a crime scene? Read to find out!
1. Confusion

I stood, surveying the crime scene. I couldn't even tell what had killed the young girl. And she was young. Fifteen, or so the DNA test said Suana Laite was. Her face, however, told a different story. The wrinkles, crow's feet, and age spots made her seem to be in her late eighties. "John, what do you make of this?" I asked, slightly confused. "I can't make heads nor tails of it."  
>"Really, Sherlock? Not even you can figure out what killed young Suana?" I could hear the playful mockery in my long-time friend's voice. I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak, until we were home. "Well," John said, "it appears she died from... old age. But that isn't possible. Not even in the slightest."<br>"I agree," said a new voice from behind me. "Or at least not natural. Whatever this is, it must've had some sort of temporal flux ray or beam or remote or something." I turned, and there stood a man I had never seen before. He had on a blue suit, with a red tie and a tannish-beige trenchcoat. I could tell by his accent that he was not from England, though he sounded, to the untrained ear, like a born and bred Londoner. His coat was well worn, and that showed that he was very attached to it. His odd ramblings marked him as some sort of genius, crazy, or high-functioning sociopath, or maybe all three, like myself. Okay, I will admit, I am a bit crazy, I talk to a skull, for heaven's sake! Blimey, even his eyes were odd. They were older than he, and darker than the cheerful bloke he portrayed himself as. They were full of loss. Too much loss. Like everyone he had ever cared for had been taken from him. His hair, the unruly mop that it was, was short and appeared to have some sort of gel in it. That showed he cared about his appearance a lot.  
>"No civilians allowed," said Lestrade, shoving his way in front of me and pushing the newcomer back through the door.<br>"No, you don't understand. My name's the Doctor, and UNIT sent me," he stated. That stopped Lestrade in his tracks. Everyone stared at what happened next.  
>"Unit? The Doctor? Who do you think you are, impersonating the one person that holds authority over the governments of the world?" Lestrade practically shouted. My ears perked up at that. Who was this man, this mystery?<br>"I TOLD you, I AM the Doctor. Here's my proof." The odd man in a trenchcoat(No, I am NOT talking about myself) whipped out a wallet with a blank sheet of paper in it.  
>Lestrade inspected the paper, and said, defeated, "Fine, you can stay. Just don't touch anything.<br>The moment Lestrade was gone, John and I walked up to the stranger and said simultaneously, "That paper was blank. What did you do?"  
>"I didn't do a thing. It was the psychic paper. By the way, you two must both be brilliant if you could see through its illusion."<br>"Who exactly are you?" John asked, the question echoing in my own head.  
>"Like I said, I'm the Doctor. I have to examine the body, now. By Rassilion, humans can be so dense," he said, that last bit being muttered towards me. What did he mean by that? For some reason, I reached for the locket that was always around my neck, hidden by my clothes. <em>Open it<em>, a voice in the back of my head said. _But not here. The humans, there are too many._


	2. New Life

John and I returned to our flat, and I collapsed on the couch, head lolling back as I tried to make sense of the day's events. Fingering the locket at my neck, I noticed that the voices were quiet. Except the one telling me to open the locket.  
>"What's on your mind, Sherlock?" John asked, face filled with worry.<p>

_Oh, nothing, John, just a voice telling me to open this locket_, I thought. But instead, I said, "This locket. I have the oddest feeling that I should try to open it, but all the times I have, it's been stuck. It's the strangest thing, besides that man; the 'Doctor', was he?; at the crime scene earlier today."

"Hnn, what? Oh, yes, yes, he was odd. Maybe it just wasn't time for you to open the locket. Maybe you weren't ready, and it being unopenable was psychosomatic."

"Perhaps, or perhaps it was always just rusted shut, and somehow recently became operable. Yes, that's always likely, eh, John? John?" I looked around, and he was nowhere to be seen. _I must be rubbing off on him_, I thought with a barely noticable smile on my face. Of course, there was always the possibility that it had some sort of timed lock and John was right. I took it off of my neck to examine it. It looked oddly like a small fob watch, and had some strange circular symbols decorating one side. The latch had no rust on it whatsoever, disproving my theory and making John's theory a tad more likely.

I pushed the latch, and it flicked open without a sound. Memories that couldn't possibly be mine, knowledge that I couldn't know all came rushing into me in the form of a golden light. My biological makeup changed, increasing the size of my ribcage slightly to make room for a second heart and increased lung capacity, and my internal temperature dropped drastically. I parted my lips in a silent scream, but only golden dust emerged. What had happened to me?


	3. I'm Fine, John

POV: Doctor

I smiled as I felt the existence of another Time Lord come out of hiding. I wasn't the only one, after all! I guessed correctly about Sherlock Holmes, I suppose.

POV: Sherlock(Hopefully for the rest of the story)

iTime Lord, welcome back,/i the voices greeted, whispering in my have been gone a long time from this body.

Far too long, in my opinion,/i I laughed inside my skull.

"Sherlock, I'm back!" John called from the entry hall of our flat. I picked up a random book, and looking quickly at the book cover, opened it to a random page.

"Hello, John," I called, flipping the page.

"Ah. Reading, I see. Well, I'll just leave you to it," he said, going into the kitchen to set down the bags from the shopping he had just arrived from. "Wait. We're on a case. You NEVER read while on a case. It's like you sleeping or eating on a case. It just doesn't happen. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, John. I'm fine. Well, as fine as someone like me can be, being a high-functioning sociopath, anyways," I said. iWell, maybe not as fine as I told you, John Watson,/i I thought. I shut the book, hopping to my feet, and said, "Come on, John. We've got a murder to solve!" I snatched my dark blue trench coat from the couch where it had fallen and ran out the door, John close on my heels. 


End file.
